North Winter High School: Being Who I Want To Be
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: Set in my Modern AU World "North Winter High School". Arya is going to be what and whoever she wants to be, and isn't going to let anyone stop her.
1. Part 1: Cracked Reflection

**a/n: Modern (sorta), AU****, Gender Bender****. My first Game of Thrones fic, hope you like it and please review! **

**I changed the Stark kids' ages slightly:**

**Robb - 16**  
**Jon - 16**  
**Sansa - 14**  
**Arya - 13**  
**Bran - 10**  
**Rickon - 8**  
**-**  
**-**

**Fic Summary: **_Arya is going to be what and whoever she wants to be, and isn't going to let anyone stop her._

**Chapter Summary: **_Arya tries something new, and after making a mess of things, she goes to her big brothers for help._

**********Game/of/Thrones**********  
*****

**North Winter High School,**  
**Being Who I Want To Be:**

_Part 1:_  
**Cracked Reflection**

Arya studied her reflection in the mirror as if she were judging the strength of a stud, which she had only basic authority over, but did so any way. She needed to be apart from herself, unbiased**—**it was the only way. She was too emotional, always fired-up.

Tomorrow she would make the impression that would follow her for the next four years of her life. Any rumours previously voiced about her would vanish upon the impression that she intended to make.

She looked at herself critically, locked away in her bedroom, fresh from the bath, as nude as her born-date. Her brown hair was dripping, wet ringlets hanging over her shoulders. Her grey eyes wide and ever big, set evenly in her tanned, long face. She had a small nose, and puffy lips. Her shoulders were narrow, her hips following suit, her waist slim. She hardly had an arse, and her breasts were like mosquito bites. Her height came to a shuddering stop at 4-and-a-half-feet, with a complete weight of hardly 6 stone. She was thirteen name-days old, she'd already bled, yet she was as flat-chested as a boy.

She wasn't beautiful like her sister Sansa, who was only a year older. Who was tall, and had curves. Though she'd bleed just last year, while Arya had when she was 12, she already had breasts the size of oranges that continued to grow into grapefruits, while Arya had baby crab apples. Sansa had gorgeous red hair that flowed like silk past her shoulder blades, with unblemished, ivory skin. Her shoulders were straight, her bum round, and her hips wide. She seemed to be all curves and nothing else.

Sometime, when Arya watched her, she couldn't help but curse her sister.

She knew that she took after her father greatly, more so than any of her bothers and sisters**—**except for her half-sibling Jon. That she was considered handsome instead of beautiful. That if it weren't for her long hair, and the skirts that she was forced to wear, people would think that Ned and Catelyn Stark had born 5 sons and a single daughter, instead of 4 sons and 2 daughters. But she hated the skirts; they restricted her, made sure that she stayed still and didn't go tromping off for an 'adventure'. She much preferred trousers, or shorts, they allowed for manoeuvrability, and she loved to move. She hated staying still.

She didn't _hate_ being a girl. Sometimes it wasn't all that bad. But then sometimes she wondered if she wasn't meant to be a boy. She gave herself a slow once over, wondering what it would be like to not bleed each month, and instead having a protruding organ between her legs, instead of a smooth patch of light brown hair. Things would be so much easier. She could stand up to make water. She could go out and have fun. She could get dirty and mother wouldn't give her a look of mild anger and disappointment.

Her gaze strayed to her breasts, or at least what there was of them. As flat-chested as a boy. Now she looked at her hair. How it so annoyed her to no end. It was useless; it didn't do anything but get tangled and in the way. Make her even hotter during the long summer years. She reached up and held the tangled strands behind her head, imagining what it might be like short. It's be no different than when she wore it pinned up.

Coming to a decision, she turned from the full length mirror that hung inside her closet door, and walked across the carpeted bedroom, to her connecting bathroom. She stood on the small step at her sink, and took a pair of shears and cut lock after lock. The brown strands of damp hair fell softly into the sink and on the floor around her. With each snipe, as her head grew lighter, the invisible weight on her shoulders lessened. When she finally set the scissors on the counter, she felt free, so unburdened that she could fly.

She looked at herself in the mirror and tried a smile. Her hair was cut unevenly, of course, she had no idea how to cut hair. And any surface traces that she was a girl, vanished.

She stepped down from the step, and swept up the discarded hair. She bid them goodbye before flushing it all down the chamber pot. She put on her pyjamas; a pair of sleep shorts and a tank. She ran a brush through her hair, and when she went to turn off the lights, and she passed her closet mirror, she froze as she caught her reflection.

She looked at herself again. Trying to be like a casual observer. And all she could see was her hair. Her mother loved her hair. When Arya was smaller, before bedtime, her mother would sit with her on her bed and brush her hair, telling her a bedtime story. It had been one of the most intimate moments that the two of them had shared. Her mother could never do that again. It didn't matter that Arya hadn't let her do it since she was seven.

In the morning, when she went downstairs for breakfast, she didn't have to wonder how her mother would react when she saw her youngest daughter's hair. Aghast; at first, at least; then that would turn into anger. She'd be grounded for the rest of her life, forever doomed to live with her parents. Her father would be less angry, but upset nonetheless. She didn't want to think about her siblings. Sansa, after that first surprise, would act in her usual condescending manner and goad at her with giggles. Rickon wouldn't understand, and Bran would laugh at her like a little brother. Jon and Robb would probably laugh**—**no, she knew they would**—**though she knew it wouldn't be in the same manner as Sansa.

Arya felt horror overwhelm her small body, and fear. Tomorrow would be her first year at The North Winter High School. This would be her first impression on what every teenager referred to as the Underworld. What had she done? How could she take this back? She felt tears prick her eyes. She needed help. She couldn't go to mother or father, Bran and Rickon were useless, and she'd never go to Sansa for anything if she could help it. Her big brothers, though they were boys and three years older, she was closest to them than any of her other siblings. Jon and Robb would know what to do, they could fix this, they always fixed everything.

She turned off her bedroom light and slowly cracked her door open. The hinges never squeaked, Maester Luwin saw that the workers oiled the hinges every month. The hall was in complete darkness, but for the interlaying windows from which moonlight shone. The whole household was in there bedrooms, asleep.

The Stark house was so large that people called it a mansion or castle, its true name was Winterfell Manor. Her parents had their own wing, her four brothers shared a wing, so did she and Sansa. There was a wing for guests, and even the servants had their own barracks. The dinning room could seat thirty people in a professional capacity, the kitchen could staff ten. There was ten washrooms. Her father had an office, her mother a sewing room. There was a wreck room, a living room, a family room, the hall, and the library. They had a swimming pool, and a dog run for the six husky wolves, and a barn and stables for the horses. The place was surrounded by fields and acres of woods to ride in.

She crept from her room and down the dim hall like a mouse. She knew this place upside-down and inside-out, she was master of every creak in the floorboards**—**the only one quieter was Ghost, Jon's dog. She crept passed Sansa's room, and several empty ones, before she came to a juncture, straight was to her brothers, and left was her parents. Staying true, she passed Bran and Rickon's rooms, and further down she finally came upon Jon's.

She didn't pause as she grasped the knob and opened to the door a crack, slipping through into even darker darkness, closing it behind her like a whisper.

She knew the layout of Jon's room as much as her own, she'd been in here enough times. She knew that he was asleep because she could hear his even breathing, he didn't snore like their father does.

She crept to his bed like a thief in the night. When she arrived at the side of his bed, he stirred at her presence, but did not wake.

"Jon?" She whispered. Nothing. "Jon?" She tried again, this time shaking his bare shoulder.

Jon groaned. "Hm..."

"Jon." She snapped this time, unable to help herself and his eyes snapped open.

"What's wrong?" He said instantly; something always seemed to be when his little sister woke him up in the middle of the night. He couldn't see any details of her, just the silhouette as his window stood at her back.

Arya was quiet for a moment, not sure what to say. And with tactlessness she blurted, "I cut off all me hair!"

"You what?" Jon asked in confusion, rising to his elbows. _Must be a dream_, he figured. What she said wasn't making any sense.

"Jon..." Arya whispered, and it had the edge of a suppressed sob.

Jon instantly sat up. "Arya," he said, and reached over next to her and turned on his bedside lamp. He wasn't able to stop the gasp. "What happened to your hair?" He said, finally seeing her in the light.

"I cut it off," she said.

Jon reached out and touched the clumpy and uneven hair. "What were you thinking?" was all he could whisper.

Arya didn't answer. She had been thinking, she really had, just not about the fact that she obviously couldn't cut hair.

He didn't try and force the answer from her, she'd tell when she was ready, he knew. Trying to force an answer from Arya was like trying to squeeze blood from a rock**—**it couldn't be done. She'd come to him for help, for a solution to this unusual problem. But all he could think about was how lady-mother was going to react when she saw what had happened to her daughter's beautiful hair.

He gave her a fond look as he climbed from bed, clad in just a pair of pyjama pants, and took her small hand in his. "Come," he commanded gently, tugging her along. He left his room, and walked the brief distance across the hall to where Robb's room lay.

Much as Arya had done, he entered Robb's dark room without so much as knocking, and shut the door behind them. Unlike Jon, Robb was a snorer like their father, but seemed to stop when he slept on his stomach. Right now, he was snoring. Jon turned on the light, but it had no effect on their brother, who was a very heavy sleeper.

Still holding Arya's hand, he stepped to his brother's bedside, and shook his shoulder. "Brother." There wasn't even a stutter in his snoring. Jon gave a rougher shake and this time snapped, "Robb!"

Robb moaned. "Wha?"

"Get up," Jon told him. "We have a problem."

"Do it yourself," he mumbled.

Jon rolled his eyes. "Get up, idiot." He repeated.

Robb cracked his eyes open, but his blue gaze was still glazed with sleep. "Screw off, bastard."

"Arya needs our help." Jon growled, and promptly yanked the pillow from under his brother's head and whapped him on the head with it.

"You're dead!" Robb growled, rolling over and sitting up with a glare, more awake.

Jon didn't say a word, and simply picked their sister up as if she were a toddler and placed her in front of him on the bed.

Robb looked at her blankly for a long moment in confusion, before it seemed to finally click what he was actually seeing. "Arya?"

She looked at him with big grey eyes, her lips pursed in what could only have been the beginning of a cry-frown.

He reached out and touched her chopped hair, making sure that it was real and he wasn't having a bizarre dream, much like Jon had. "Did Bran finally make good on his threat and cut off all you're pretty hair?"

"I cut it off," she told him, her voice miserable as she knelt on the covers between his legs.

"Why?" He asked, curious, his hands on either of her shoulders; both in comfort and taking the option for her to run, away.

Jon sat on the edge of the bed next to Robb, and mirrored his expression, his arms crossed lightly over his bare chest as he nodded in agreement with the question.

Arya looked between her two big brothers. So was so embarrassed to explain, that she felt her cheeks flush with the heat of a blush. But her relationship with them was so different than with her other siblings. Though there was a three name-years between them, they got on great. She had more in common with them, than she did with Sansa. They were dirty boys, and she was a girl who played like a dirty boy**—**and she loved every minute of it. They had laughs, and they had adventures, and though she was a girl, she never let up an inch; and though she was small, her fiery personality more than made up for it. She trusted them with everything. And though they could have looked at her with disdain like her sister, it was love that coloured their gazes when they looked at her. She would tell them, and they would understand.

Arya took a big breath, squared her narrow shoulders, and stuck out her chin as she looked at them with steel in her grey eyes. "I was nervous about tomorrow," she admitted. "I thought about what impression I would make on my first day. I'm not as pretty as Sansa, you know." Jon and Robb made no comment, just continued to listen. "And while I was thinking how girly Sansa was, and how much I'm not, I realized that I hated my hair. Mother never cut it, she only trimmed. She said I was a girl, and girls were made to have long hair. Well, I hated it!" Arya cried, leaping to her feet in her passion. "It was useless and always got in the way. It's my hair, I should be the one who decides what gets done to it. I don't care if it makes me look like a boy**—**I don't!"

"Shush!" Jon hissed at her, grabbing her arm and dragging her back down to her rump. "You'll wake Bran and Rickon with all your shouting!"

"Sorry." Arya mumbled, but here gaze was still firm.

"What are we supposed to do about this?" Jon wondered. There was no point in getting angry. He believe in what she said, about it being her hair and she should say what happened to it. He just wished that she had talked to them first before she went through with it. There was no going back now, only forward.

"What's done is done," Robb said simply. "There's no way we can cover this up... so we're just going to have to neaten it up." He decided.

"You mean you'll help me?" Arya asked.

"Of course, you little fool."

"You're the best!" She claimed, and leapt into his arms, wrapping her skinny arms around his neck.

Robb chuckled warmly as he hugged her back. "I always knew it." He smirked at Jon.

Jon glared at the two of them. "What about me?" He asked, pouting.

Arya smiled as she released Robb's neck, and climbed into Jon's lap, hugging him just as tight. "You too," she agreed.

"So how do you supposed we go about doing this, Robb?" Jon asked, as Arya finally released him and reclaimed her spot between her other brother's legs on the bed. "I don't think we're better hair dressers than our dear sister."

"I figured that we couldn't be any worse, could we?" Robb shrugged his shoulders. "And we could always put a hat on her**—** or cross The Wall when mother finds out in the morning." Both brothers and sister shuddered at what mother's reaction might be.

"I suppose you're right," Jon reluctantly agreed, it wasn't as if he had any better solutions to this problem.

They got out of bed and set up in Robb's bathroom, crowding around the mirror above the sink, Arya standing on a small chest that Robb had grabbed from his desk. They dampened her hair like mother always did before she cut their hair, and laid a towel around her shoulders.

Robb stood behind her with the scissors in his fingers. It was decided that he would go first since it was his idea. She watched in the mirror as he started to cut out chunks of hairs. Before a minute was over, it was very clear to her that he was just as bad as this as she was**—**that was a boy for you!

"Robb, you're making it worse!" Arya protested, as she felt the falling hair brush her cheeks.

"Better than you!" Robb returned.

"Enough!" Jon told them. "Quit bickering and give me the scissors."

Robb handed them over, and stepped out from behind Arya. Jon took his place and scrutinized the mess that both his brother and sister had made.

"Can you fix it?" Arya asked quietly, looking at him through the reflection of the mirror.

"I'll do my best, Arya," Jon told her, "but I can't promise anything."

Arya nodded and held still at Jon's first and final attempt to salvage her hair, and save their lives.

She kept her eyes squeezed shut tight, afraid to watch as the floor came out beneath her and she ended up bald. She would just die if that happened, no matter how her mother reacted. Her brothers never let her down, so she knew that they wouldn't this time. But she prayed to the old gods and the new as she heard _snick _after _snick._

"Alright," Jon sighed finally. "I'm finished. You can open your eyes now, Arya.

After a deep breath, the girl did, and looked at her reflection. Jon had been better than either her or Robb. She wasn't bald. And though there was considerably less than there had been when Robb was finished, she couldn't have hoped for better. The cuts were straight. It wasn't clumpy. And though it made her look like a boy, she loved it.

"Well, I guess if mother doesn't murder us all, you have a future career as a hair dresser, Jon." Robb told him, patting his brother on the shoulder.

"That's more I can say for you," Jon said.

Robb rolled his eyes. "Shut up." Jon smirked.

Arya interrupted them as she spun on her heals and wrapped her arms around their waists', burying her face between them. On one cheek she felt warm skin, and on the other, the soft material of a t-shirt. And she cried, but she didn't care because they were happy tears.

"I guess this means you like it?" Jon asked.

Arya nodded her head in answer as they hugged her back.

"It's going to be fine," Robb told her, rubbing her small back. "No matter what mother might say."

"Yeah, little sister, we got your back." Jon affirmed.

Arya sniffed, and withdrew her face from their ribs, but didn't release her arms as she looked up at the two of them. "You're the best big brothers," she told them. They grinned down at her.

"It's late," Jon said. "Time for bed."

Arya released them reluctantly, she was feeling pretty tired after all this stress with her hair, and now that it was fixed she felt rather drained. She sniffed, her face wet from her tears. She reached for Robb, and he watched as his sister took the edge of his shirt and wiped her face with it.

"What are you doing?!" He exclaimed. Arya didn't seem to hear him as she was already wandering from the bathroom. "I'm not just some tissue that you can blow your nose on, I'm a human-being!" He said as he and Jon followed her from the bathroom.

Jon snickered at his side as she left without any further words. When Arya arrived back at her room, she closed the door and didn't even bother turning on the lights as she climbed under the covers and fell instantly asleep.

Robb glared at him.

"Goodnight, brother."

"You're leaving, too?" Robb asked.

Jon nodded. "It's a new semester tomorrow."

Robb furrowed his brows as he glanced behind him at the mess of hair on his bathroom floor. "What about the mess?"

Jon grinned at him. "It was your idea, Robb, your bathroom. Have fun!" He clapped the other boy on the shoulder, leaving his brother's room before said brother could grab a hold of him.

Robb glared at the door. "A bunch of ingrates," he opined as he turned back to his bathroom and wondered about how he was supposed to clean it up before he went to bed.

* * *

When Arya's alarm went off in the morning, she bolted upright in bed, remembering everything from last night. She jumped from her bed, and ran to her bathroom, jumping on the step and peering at her reflection. She reached up and touched her short-cropped hair, like her brothers had done the night before, to make sure that it was real. And it was, as she ran her small hands through the short, silky brown locks. It was for true.

She couldn't stop staring at herself as she got ready for her first day at North Winter H.S., in either of her two mirrors. Her bathroom as she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Her closet mirror as she stripped from her tank and put on a undershirt, white button-up, grey blazer (with a dire wolf head crest on the left breast), with a charcoal-gray and white tie. She ignored the black leotards and the pleated skirt as she slipped a pair of black socks on her bare feet. As she had gotten dressed she had made a decision**—**She was Eddard Stark's daughter, she never went half-way.

She peeked out of her cracked door into the hall. Her mother wasn't there, and Sansa would be forever in the bathroom. She needed to be quiet like a mouse, but fast like a wolf. She streaked from her room, through her wing, and down her brothers' and didn't stop until she was in Jon's room, her back pressed against the closed door.

Jon came from his bathroom in full uniform, but stopped short when he spotted her. A chuckle escaped him as he took the sight of her in; from the waist-up she wore her knew school uniform, and the other half was still clad in her pyjama shorts. "Am I missing something, or did they change the school uniforms?"

"Don't be a dummy," she told him, standing up from the door.

"What do you need, Arya?" He asked her.

"Another favour."

"Ask away," his hands landed on his hips as he looked down at her, noting that she looked quite cute in her new hair-cut, and he just hoped that lady-mother wouldn't be too harsh on her.

* * *

Everyone else was already up and dressed, and down in the dinning-room for breakfast. Ned sat at the head of the table, with Rickon to his right, his wife next, and Bran afterward. To his left sat Sansa, Robb, Jon and Arya between the two boys. Jon and Robb took their places at the table before her, giving her encouragement before she was for sure grounded for life.

"Oh my Gods!" Sansa exclaimed, seeing her first from the placement at the table.

"What is it, dear?" Catelyn asked, looking to her eldest daughter.

Sansa couldn't seem to form the words for whatever this was, and just continued to stare at her sister standing in the doorway. Everyone looked and watched as Arya, with her hair, and pants walked slowly to the table, and took her regular seat between Robb and Jon.

"Arya, what in the world have you done?!" Catelyn exclaimed as she took in her youngest daughter's especially boyish appearance. "What have you done to your lovely hair?"

"I cut it off," Arya told her truthfully. She didn't see how she could lie about it, the proof was there for all to see.

Anger flashed in mother's eyes. "How could you do something so foolish?" she demanded.

Arya swallowed, but kept her chin high, confident with her brothers on either side of her. "It wasn't foolish."

Catelyn narrowed her eyes. Of all the stupid things that her daughter did, this beat anything previous out of the way.

Ned saw the look in his wife's eyes and decided to step in before things got completely out of hand. "Arya, please explain why you cut you hair." He instructed her.

Arya swallowed and looked to her father. "I didn't like my hair long. I'm not a child any more. It my hair and I should be the one to decide whether it stays long or not."

"You look like a boy!" Sansa finally regained her voice, and Arya glared daggers at her around Robb.

"Sansa!" Ned scolded his eldest daughter before turning back to his youngest. "You should have spoke with us before you did something like this, Arya. You're to be punished." He nodded to her mother, leaving that up to her.

Arya looked back to her mother nervously. She could see how angry her mother was just by the set of her lips. "You're grounded; not aloud to step outside to ride your horse or play with Nymeria, instead you will be with me in my sewing room." Arya had expected to get grounded, but being stuck in her mother's sewing room**—**_sewing_? Her mother continued, "No telly or internet. And you're to clean the dog run for the next week."

Arya nodded her head, it took everything in her not to protest, but she held her tongue**—**just barely.

"I know you two had a part in this as well," mother glared at Robb and Jon on either side of her. "You are to join your sister in the dog run."

"Yes lady-/mother." The two boys muttered, there was no point in denying it. They'd both cut her hair, gave her encouragement, and Jon was the one who had dug out an old pair of slacks from his closet for her to wear instead of that leotard and skirt**—**completing her new look.

Despite all the punishment, Arya couldn't help but smiling as she ate her breakfast. Today, she'd make this image hers for the next four years and embrace it.

_-tbc-_  
**********Game/of/Thrones**********

**Note:**  
**I hope that you liked it, and that I did the characters to their liking. Please review, I want to know what you think.**  
**Thank you for reading!**

**y**


	2. Part 2: Mistaken Identity

**a/n: Modern (sorta), AU, Gender Bender. When I wrote "Cracked Reflection" I knew that it was going to be a one-shot, but I also knew that I was going to do a sequel to finish it off. But as I was writing this, I knew I wanted to write more for The North Winter High School Universe, so I decided to make it a two-shot story instead. **  
**Takes place a bit after CRACKED REFLECTION. **

**I changed the Stark kids' ages slightly:**  
**Robb - 16**  
**Jon - 16**  
**Sansa - 14**  
**Arya - 13**  
**Bran - 10**  
**Rickon - 8**

**Gendry - 16**

**Theon - 18**  
**-**  
**-**

**Fic Summary: **_Arya is going to be what and whoever she wants to be, and isn't going to let anyone stop her._

**Chapter Summary: **_Arya makes her first friend at North Winter H.S., her brothers are wary of this new relationship._

_**********Game/of/Thrones**********_  
_*****_

**North Winter High School,**  
**Being Who I Want To Be:**

_Part 2:_  
**Mistaken Identity**

Arya found that she was generally ignored at school, thought as a runt-boy if they didn't know her, and even if they did know that she was truly a girl with short hair and trousers, with her bold and hot temperament they soon forgot. Of course, she made water in the girls' bathroom, and for P.E. she changed with the other girls, but that seemed to be the only girly characteristics that she possessed. Though she wasn't truly a boy, and she didn't truly want to be, but being thought of as one, and being able to do the things that only boys got to do, made her feel special. She wasn't hollered at by a teacher when on break she occupied her time with climbing trees instead of getting ready for next class.

Classes were boring, it was what was after them that she liked best. She wasn't dumb, she just didn't have the patience to sit still all day. But what she loved more than what was in-between classes, was that she got to choose an extra-curricular activity to get extra credits. There was a bunch of things: Math Club, Chess Club, Embroidery (which Sansa was a part of because she was a goody-two-shoes); there were sports clubs like Basketball, Soccer, Rugby (which Robb and Jon had joined). But what Arya fancied most was the Dancing Guild. It's name was deceiving, but in truth, it was a Fencing Club. It wasn't very popular, but when Arya went to see what it was, her eyes had widened, and her heart pounded, and she couldn't take her gaze off the Dancing Master Syrio. Even though it was violent (which she always enjoyed in a normal boy-way) in was beautiful the way his movements flow with one another and it looked like a dance.

But the thing was, it was only boys allowed, even if there was barely five students there. She was girl; but she looked like a boy, dressed like a boy, and acted like a boy, she might as well be a boy**—**so she signed up anyway.

When she arrived at the first meeting, she knew that Master Syrio instantly knew that she was a girl, she could see it in his brown eyes, but for whatever reason she was thankful for, he didn't order her out.

Master Syrio handed her a sword. It wasn't a real sword, but a practice one. But though it was wood, it wasn't a simple stick**—**it was a true wooden sword with a grip, guard and pommel. She held it nervously in both her hands.

Master Syrio clicked his teeth as he watched her. "This is not the way, boy. This is not a axe, it is a slender sword meant to be held in a single hand."

Two of the boy snickered at her, she heard their names were Lommy and Hot Pie. "What's he even doing here?" The blond one asked. "Is he even out of diapers?" Said the fat one.

Arya glared at them hotly, but said nothing as she held the practice sword in her left palm. She was going to show them.

Master Syrio inspected her grip and after a moment nodded. "The steel must be a part of your arm. You are a sword, nothing else. Now we shall begin the dance." He told the group. "There is no hacking and hammering. No. It is swift and sudden."

* * *

By the time her first lesson was finished, Arya was covered in sweat, every muscle in her body was sore and aching, but the grin on her face was big. She had talked to Master Syrio afterward, and he said that if she liked, she could sign out a practice sword and go over the lesson at home, but he expected it returned the next day of school in the morning, in the same condition it was handed to her in. She readily accepted. She put the practice sword in the material case, and kept it with her as she went to find her brothers.

Robb and Jon were her only two friends here, there was no way that she was going to try and attempt to hang onto Sansa; she and her sister were like oil and water—they didn't get along at home so she had no desire to try it at school. Her sister was a big bore, her brothers on the other hand, weren't.

She spotted the two of them outside, but stopped short of approaching them when she spotted Theon in their company. She didn't like that boy at all. He was in his forth year, two name-years older than Robb and Jon. He had a weasel face and she didn't know why the two boys were friends with him. He was a sneak and a creep. No matter how much she wanted to show off her practice sword to her brothers, she was going to have to wait until they got home. She never joined them when they were with Theon.

Though she was a little disappointed, she decided she wasn't going to let it get her down, and found a quiet spot behind the school where she could go over the stances that Master Syrio had taught. At the back of the school was the shop, she could hear the clanging and drills as they worked. If she didn't bother them, and didn't get in their way, they wouldn't cause problems for her.

She set the material sword case on the grass and crouched in front of it. Undoing the strap, she opened it and shed her gray blazer, taking the thin wooden sword her hand, and putting her blazer in its place. She gave herself room and turned her back on the shop and faced the enclosed wooded area that separated the school from downtown, and closed her eyes, picturing the stances that Master Syrio had made in the lesson.

She stood in the ready-stance, the sword balanced in her left palm. Arya enacted the sequence of five moves separately, and once she was certain that she got them corrected, she tried to make herself flow into each stance like water—to dance like Master Syrio had done.

She felt like a bull-in-a-china-shop; fumbling and dropping the sword. She didn't feel the slightest beautiful like she knew that Master Syrio felt when he danced.

She heard snickering behind her, and spun around, the sword at the ready—but it was just Lommy and Hot Pie.

"What do _you _want?" she demanded.

"Nice sword," Lommy said. "Did you steal it from Master Syrio, Lummpyhead?"

"I bet he did," Hot Pie said.

"Did not!" Arya shouted at them.

"Must have," Lommy continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Otherwise you wouldn't have it."

"Prob'ly don't even know how to use it." Fat boy said.

Arya stayed silent at that. She didn't know how to use it, _yet._ But she knew that she was better than him, even if she was small and he was big and fat. She knew that she'd use it on him. How she'd love to use it on him. "My names not Lummpyhead." She said instead.

"It ought to be," Lommy said.

"It's Ary—" she stopped before she could finish; if she said her true name, then they know that she was really a girl, and if they knew that, they'd tell on her, and she would get kicked out of The Dancing Guild. "Arry."

"That's a stupid name," Hot Pie said. "Lummpyhead's better."

"You're the stupid ones!" Arya spat.

"Take his sword," Lommy told Hot Pie. "Come on, I dare you!" He brayed.

Hot Pie's eyes narrowed as he took a step towards her, Arya almost took a step back but stopped herself. She shouldn't be the one scared, he should. She was armed, it didn't matter that it was just wood, it would still hurt. She was the one who had four brothers and wrestled all the time. She may have been a girl, but she wasn't scared of fat boys.

She turned into the stance that she had learned today, and an inch of caution crept into him. She kept her face blank, but she smirked on the inside. _Stupid fat-boy, _she thought.

"Pathetic." Said a new voice, startling all three of them. They all looked to see another boy standing there. He had to be in Robb and Jon's grade. He was tall, broad-chested, with muscular arms. He had tanned skin covered in a layer of sweat and grease from his work in the shop. Thick black hair like the colour of ink. And blue eyes like ice that seemed to contrast well against the other dark tones. Instead of a regular uniform, he wore a pair of overalls, covered in grease and oil stains. "Picking on a boy smaller than you."

"What's it to you?" Lommy said, despite himself. His fists clenched at his side, though Arya could detect the tremor of fear that went through him.

The older boy looked directly at Lommy, his blue eyes cold. "You're an idiot. And a coward. You're lucky I came when I did, otherwise it'd be you on the ground."

Lommy scoffed. "You're wrong."

"Lookit 'im." The boy said as he rubbed at his hands unconsciously with a grease rag, jerking his chin at Arya. "He ain't moved an inch, has he? He ain't scared of you. It's you who should be scared of him beating you with that stick, not the other way 'round." Lommy just glared at him. "Go. Bef're I step in and make the numbers even. Is that what you want?" He said taking a step forward.

Lommy jumped back. "Keep away!" He shouted. "Hot Pie, come on!" He didn't even wait to see if the other boy was following before he ran and disappeared around the side of the school, but fat-boy was hot on his heals.

Arya made sure that they were actually gone before she turned her narrowed gaze to the older boy, who was still standing there, looking at her curiously; she lowered the sword from the immediate ready, but no further than that.

"I didn't need any help," Arya told him straight off, her ego not letting her say thanks straight off.

"I know." He agreed, stuffing the rag in a pocket and crossing his arms loosely over his chest. "Maybe I did it 'cause I got all sentimental."

Arya furrowed her brows in confusion. "About what?"

The boy just flashed her a smile of white teeth. "The good old days." Which made her even more confused. "You could just say thank you, and lower the sword. I'm not going to hurt you, you know."

"Thanks," she bit out, and lowered the sword, but she still frowned at him.

"You're welcome!" He told her brightly.

"Alright then, if that's all?" She asked.

He raised a dark brow at her. "Don't you want to know the name of your saviour?"

Arya sighed. "If you really feel it's necessary."

"Gendry," he said, looking down at her. "Yours?"

"Arry." She told him, her chin thrusted forward; daring him to think otherwise.

He smirked. "Sure, sure." He said, nodding his head. "It was nice meeting you, _Arry_." He turned and disappeared back into the shop.

Arya watched him go, and waited a minute before she packed away the sword and put her grey blazer back on. Her thoughts had already moved past the incident with the two idiot-boys and Gendry, and was already back on whether she should find a new place to practise, or if she should stay were she was. She didn't think the two dummies would try for her again as long as she stuck close to the shop.

She knew that she could have taken them, at least for a bit. She would have gotten a few good strikes in, at least, before the two of them had over-powered her. So she guessed she really did owe Gendry her thanks in saving her in the end, but she knew that now the two boys would be looking for some payback—she was going to have to be more careful—especially of the fact that they thought she was a boy, so they were going to beat her up like any other boy.

* * *

When Arya got home, she instantly went to her room and put the practice sword under her bed, before her mother caught sight of it. She was still grounded, and today was her last day cleaning the dog run with Robb and Jon—she'd tell them about the Dancing Guild then, but not what happened behind the school; they go into big-brother overdrive if they found out about that, and would insist that she return to wearing leotards and skirts to school so everyone would know that she was a girl, so the dumbo-twins wouldn't try and get revenge. But she couldn't have that, she was just starting to get things where she really wanted them, and she wasn't going to let them go that easy, no matter who much she loved her brothers.

* * *

The three sibling were clad in old clothing, ones that they wouldn't mind got dirty with doggy-business as they got to work on there last day of punishment—at least for the two boys—Arya was still grounded for two more weeks.

Her sense of smell had grown more used to the smell of the combined stench of feces from six grown huskies, but that didn't stop the twist of her lips at it. She was stuck shovelling, while Jon took care of the grass, and Robb filled in the holes that scattered across the grounds.

"Why were you off so quick when we got home?" Robb asked as he filled in a hole near where she was picking up poop.

"And what was that that you hid in your room so lady-mother wouldn't find it?" Jon called in passing.

"I was going to tell you at school," Arya said, "But you guys were with Theon."

"Why don't you like him?" Robb planted his shovel and looked at her. "He's an okay guy."

Arya shook her head. "I just don't like him." She stone-walled.

"Whatever," Robb shrugged his shoulders as he packed the dirt down with his boots. "So what did you hide in your room?"

"I joined a club at school," she told them.

Jon stopped by them and shut off the mower, taking a break. "What kind of club?" He asked, coming to stand next to Robb, interested.

"It's called the Dancing Guild."

"The _what_?!" They both said at once, and started to laugh.

"Why would you join a dancing club, Arya?" Jon managed to asked between gasps.

Arya glared at the pair of them. "It's—" she started, but Robb talked over her.

"Maybe she wants to learn some moves." Robb suggested to his brother, and promptly demonstrated one such dance sequence.

Jon's laughter grew harder as he witnessed what his brother thought was dancing. "What are you _doing_?" He laughed. "I think it's you that needs that dance lessons, brother, not our little sister."

"Would you two shut up!" Arya shouted, stopping what she knew was going to be a insult match. They looked down at her in surprise, their laughter finally dying down. "Are you finished? Will you let me speak?" The two boys nodded. "It's not that kind of club. If you hadn't _interrupted _when I was speaking, you wouldn't have come to that dumb conclusion. It's not a _dancing_ club, it's _fencing." _Just as she suspected, she didn't have to wait long for a reaction out of the pair.

"Fencing?" Robb said. "Are you insane?"

"That's way too dangerous!" Jon agreed. "Swords are _not_ _toys_, Arya."

"I know that!" She said. "I'm not playing. This is something I that I like, and really want to learn how to do."

"You're too small for something like this." Jon protested. Arya's eyes turned to steel at the mention of her height.

"How did you even get accepted?" Robb asked. "I know for a fact that clubs like that have gender restrictions."

They both looked at her as she stayed silent and her chin thrusted forward.

"You pretended to be a boy, didn't you?" Jon realized after seeing her reaction to Robb's comment.

"What else was I supposed to do?" Arya protested loudly. "Boys get to do everything, it's so unfair."

"Arya, you lied!" Jon shouted.

"It was just a little lie." She protested quieter, her eyes going sad.

"You have to quit that club, it's too dangerous." He stepped to her and touched her shoulder as he spoke gently.

"But why?" She looked up at him, unable to help the wetness in her eyes.

"Why do you think will happen when they find out that you're really a girl?" Robb stepped up next to Jon and looked at her with sympathetic eyes. "You could get suspended from school, and how do you think mother will react when she finds out?" Arya opened her mouth to protest that mother-wouldn't-find-out-!, but he saw that coming. "You know she will, she always find out everything."

"I'm not quitting!" Arya told them firmly, shrugging off her brother's warm hand and taking a step back from them. "And you're not going to tell mother either, or she'll find out what _really_ happened to blanket that she had been sewing."

Both brothers gulped at the threat, they both knew that she would make it a promise. She waited as they looked at each other, having a silent conversation the only way two brothers can, before coming to a decision and looking back down at her.

"Alright." Jon relented. "You can stay in your club, and we won't tell lady-mother."

"But," Robb included, "you have to tell us if something happens, no hiding any injuries. Got that?"

Arya nodded rapidly, a grin spreading across her lips as she jumped into their arms. They caught her expertly. "I knew I was right when I said you guys were the best!"

"Alright, enough lounging around." Jon said, as she slid back to the ground from their arms. "We better finish this up if we want supper."

They all went back to their respective job at the reminder of food, and knowing that they could only eat once they were finished. Arya was so glad that she could share everything with her brothers. If they reacted that way about her fencing, she didn't want to know how they would react if they found out about what almost happened behind the school today. She thought it best to keep that hidden.

* * *

She kept going to practice and said nothing when Master Syrio called her boy or Arry, as long as she kept up the pretence of a boy, she could stay, and as long as reported back to Robb and Jon, they let her. She was happy, and promptly ignored the sneers that Lommy and Hot Pie shot her way. When she signed out a practice sword, after a lesson she would return to her spot behind the school and near the shop.

The sound of hammering, and drilling, and hydraulic lifts, and car engines wove themselves into her dancing as she slowly learned the steps, and it was Gendry who was the one who created it. He was a common occurrence, she never saw him anywhere else, only ever in the shop. And as her lessons progressed, one day, she found that though she occupied the same area, she changed her position so that on her sword-side there was Mother Nature, and on her right was Gendry and the music.

One day after practice, she took her sword behind the school at the shop, she really wanted to master the move that Master Syrio had been showing them this past week. She no longer wore her uniform to the Guild classes, but her gym clothes, a grey tee and a pair of dark shorts that came a couple inches above her knees. It gave her more manoeuvrability she found, to let the dance flow through her.

She took up her starting stance, breathed steady and moved through the beginning sequence with ease. She flowed from move to move like water in a river. This was the easy part, she mastered those within the first week with sufficient practise time, it was the next part that always made a fool of her. It was a leaping move. She was good at leaping, though her legs were skinny, they had become lightly corded with muscle that she had developed through her few months in the Dancing Guild, her arms were in a similar state. Her jumps were good and high, and her landings firm and light, and if it was just jumping she would have beat them all out, but it was the striking move made in the air that faltered her landing. If she was lucky enough, she stumbled on her feet, other times she ended up on her face with scraped and bruised elbows and knees.

She came upon her entrance and sprang into the air like a leaping frog, at the climax of the ark, she trusted her wooden sword and turned. She knew on her descent that she was going to land wrong, and in the two seconds it took her to hit the ground, she prepared for impact. She thrust the sword away from her, and tried to angle her body so that she wouldn't break her neck or anything else, and rolled with the motion, tumbling on the ground. She got a mouth full of dirt for her troubles, but nothing was broken, least of all her practice sword.

She felt a shadow fall across her splayed form. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you nailed it." His deep voice was laced with laughter.

Arya leapt to her, covered in dist, more bruises added to her collection and glared up at Gendry. "You _don't_ know any better." She agreed.

He laughed as he looked at her, flicking a clump of grass from her short locks. "You're right, dancing's really not my thing."

"I offered to teach you." She spat the grit from her mouth, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

"It's still not my style. I wasn't built to twirl in the air. I'm all muscle; machine and grease are my friends."

"I suppose." Arya agreed. "It possesses a certain elegance that you greatly lack."

Gendry raised a dark brow at her as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm a man, all hammering and striking. It fits you perfect, though,"

"What is that supposed to mean?" She demanded, her grip tightening on her sword hilt.

"We both know what I mean," he said dryly.

"No, _we_ don't." Arya disagreed.

"You're name isn't really _Arry_, is it." He said rhetorically.

"Yes, it is!"

"Come on, Ary**—**_a._" He said, and shot a prompt glance down at her chest.

Arya gasped, and with widened eyes she followed his gaze to look at her chest. Her shirt clung to her body with sweat, and the outline of her breasts were clear. Almost a week ago, she discovered that they had grown slightly, while her female side was happy at no longer being flat-chested, the side of her that was playing the boy groaned. No longer the size of crab apples, but instead of a red apple split in half. She gasped again, more indignantly this time, and crossed her skinny arms across her chest tightly, the practice sword falling from her grasp**—**she had more important things to worry about. She looked up at Gendry with widened eyes, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air… she was speechless.

"Your not gonna pass out, are you?" Genrdy wondered, scratching the back of his head as he watched her like a deer-in-the-headlights. Maybe he shouldn't have admitted that he knew her secret. "Here, pretend I didn't say anything." He told her, bending down for her sword, she jumped back from him. He looked at her. "I'm not going to hurt you." He exclaimed as he held the sword out to her.

Arya clenched her jaw, pursing her lips tight and she looked at him through grey slits. She straightened her shoulders and jutted out her chin. "What do I have to do for you to keep my secret?" She asked him.

Gendry looked at her in surprise, both at her words and her sudden change in demeanour. "Nothing! Take your sword already!" He told her.

Arya grabbed the weapon, but it didn't do much to qualm her fears. He said nothing, but she wasn't dumb enough to truly believe it, everyone always wanted something. "I'm serious," she growled like a dog. "What do you want?"

Gendry groaned and briefly covered his face with his hands, and tipped his head towards the sky in frustration. She was like a dog with a bone, she wasn't ever going to let it go. She was stubborn, and infuriating. He knew the instant that he had seen her that she was a girl masquerading as a boy, despite the hair and the clothes and her handsome face and flat chest (that wasn't so flat anymore). He had to give into her or else they'd just keep circling each other until the end of the world. Finally, he planted his hands on his overall-ed hips and looked down at her.

"Alright, I do want something." He told her.

Arya nodded. She knew it! "What is it, then?" She kept her expression hard, despite the fear. What did he want? He said he didn't want anything, didn't he?!

"I want..." he said slowly, a devious look in his bright blue eyes; Arya gulped, "You to tell me why you thought it was a good idea to play as a boy." He finished.

"That's it?" Arya asked in surprise, her arms dropping from her chest.

"That's it." Gendry agreed, decidedly not looking at her breasts. She was obviously too young, a first-year while he was a third (the same year as her two older brothers; he had discovered when he discovered her true name**—**he was not getting tangled up in that mess).

"I just tell you why, and you won't tell?" She had to make sure of the terms.

"Sure." He dropped to the ground, settling comfortably as he looked up at her, waiting.

Arya glared at him for a moment before she sat down in front of him, her practice sword laying flat across her folded knees. "As you are aware, I am a girl**—**"

Gendry nodded. "From the moment I saw you."

"How?" She was curious despite herself.

"I'm male," he replied simply. "It's my duty to be aware of every girl within my eye line."

"Then how come Lommy and Hot Pie think I'm a boy?"

Gendry let loose a bark of laughter. "Those idiots wouldn't be able to tell the difference bet a cow's udder and a woman's tits if they stood next to each other!"

Arya gave him a pinched expression at the comparison; she may have been thirteen and a girl, but she was a prude like Sansa and ignorant of sex**—**those things just didn't interest her.

Gendry just smirked at her. "Go on."

"Being thought of as a boy has just worked out better for me." Arya told him. "You don't see boys forced to stay inside and sew. Boys get to have all the fun, and do dangerous things and don't get punished like a girl would if she made water in public like boys do. They get to wrestle, and climb trees, and get dirty."

"And that's what you want? To get dirty?" He asked.

"Yes!" She exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "I want to roll around in the grass, and go camping. I want to wrestle with my dog, and be able to get muddy. I want to beat up other boys and not have them be embarrassed because they got beat up by a girl! I don't care that I _am _a_ girl_, I just want to be treated like a boy!" Gendry was silent as she looked down at him where he sat on the ground, leaning back on his hands, and she felt like she wasn't explaining it well enough. She growled out in frustration. "I like to do things that only boys are allowed to do. It's so unfair that they only get to do all the fun and interesting things. I like dancing," she said, gesturing to the sword in her hand. "But only boys are allowed join the Guild**—**so if I have to pretend to be a boy to do that, then that's what I'm going to do!"

Gendry couldn't help but smirk up at her. She was like a wild animal with all that energy exploding out of her with nowhere to go, with all that determination and fiery dreams. He was glad that he had stepped in for her when he had, otherwise he never would have had such excitement in his previously boring and mundane life.

"Say something!" She exploded.

He chuckled. "I won't tell your secret... but I want something else, too."

"What? But I did what you asked!" She felt betrayed, she never should have trusted him.

"I want us to be friends." He told her, climbing to his feet and dusting the dirt from his arse.

Arya was shocked silent. She never expected something like that, she thought he was going to ask for something seedy. "You what?"

"I want us to be friends," he said. She was still silent. "Well?"

After a moment Arya nodded her head slowly at him, her expression flushed. She'd never had a real friend before, a true friend that didn't start out as a brother. "Yeah!" And she held out her hand to him, a grin on her face.

Gendry took her small, calloused palm in his bigger, grease marked hand and gave it a hardly shake. "Friends."

"Friends!" She laughed.

* * *

Arya couldn't stop herself from smiling, she tried not to, but saw no reason why she should. This was a new feeling to her. It was not unlike what she felt for Robb and Jon, but it was also completely different. She felt warm when she thought about her brothers, warm with love and happiness, but frustration because though she loved them, they could at times be overly frustrating.

When she thought of Gendry, who was her first true friend, she got a sparkly new warm feeling inside of her. She wondered how their relationship would differ from that with her brothers. She felt deep love and affection towards the pair, but she wasn't quiet sure what kind of love she was feeling for Gendry, whether it was deeper, or lesser, or just different. It didn't matter, she liked the mystery of it, the adventure, in forging her path of friendship with him. It didn't matter that he was as old as her brothers, the name-years that separated them didn't cause a problem for her, it was just that he had more experience in life with certain things that she did not, and it was the same way with her towards him.

* * *

It wasn't long before someone caught on to her overly chipper mood, and Robb and Jon promptly cornered her at the most oppertune moment, actually catching her by surprise, which was a rare feat nowadays.

"What is up with you?" Robb hissed in her ear from behind, and she let out a yelp of surprise.

She spun around to him, her fists clenched in anger. "What is wrong with you!" She growled, and promptly punched her brother.

"OW!" Robb winced with real pain, and he rubbed his abused shoulder soothingly. "What'd you punch me for?"

"You scared her." Jon's light chuckled whispered behind her. Arya spun back around, caught with another surprise, and her fist was swinging. Unlike Robb, Jon was smart enough to see the attack coming, and block it expertly. "Have you been working out?" He murmured, feeling a real bite behind the punch.

Arya reclaimed her fist. "It's the dancing," she told him pride.

Jon smiled down at her. "I'm proud that you're working hard, little sister," he mussed her short locks, "And haven't given up."

Arya raised an indignant brow. "You thought I would?"

"Why are you so happy, sister." Robb piped up, staving off a fight and probing for much wanted answers.

Arya rolled her eyes, and closed the door to her room so no-one would over-hear there conversation. She sat on the edge of her bed while her brothers looked down on her. Sometimes they could be so nosy! But oh, how she wanted to tell them, her first true friend. She couldn't help smiling at the very thought.

"Tell us, or we'll have to force it out of you." Robb threatened with brotherly love.

"I met a boy at school," she told them.

She could have sworn that their jaws dropped to the floor in shock, and it took her a second to discover from their reactions that they obviously thought that she meant boyfriend**—**which Gendry was not! She waved her arms around in horror. "Not like that," she snapped at them. "Don't be gross!"

"Well, what do you expect us to think when you say things like that?" Robb asked.

"I expect you to use your brain, idiot!" Arya said crisply.

"Alright! So if you don't mean boyfriend, you mean...?" Jon asked her, just a tad more controlled than Robb.

"Friend! You bunch of pigs!" She yelled at them.

"Okay. Alright." He made a calming gesture with his hands.

Arya took a deep breath, but she was still fuming; what a bunch of tossers. "Gendry is just my friend."

"Alright, who's this Gendry guy? Do we know him? What grade is he in? Has he tried to make a move on you?" Robb rapid fired at her.

"Gross!" She exclaimed. "He's not like that! He nice. And he's in the same grade as you."

"What?!" They both exclaimed at that.

"He's in the same grade as us?" Robb asked.

"You can't be friends with him, Arya, he's too old." Jon said.

"What are you talking about? He's the same age as you guys, and I'm friends with you!" She protested.

"That's different," Jon returned. "We're your brothers, so our age doesn't count."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" She jumped to her feet, angry. "It makes no sense at all."

"It does, and you're not to see him." Robb growled, his arms crossed firmly across his chest.

"You can't tell me what to do!" Arya bucked under the combined authority of her brothers. "I don't need permission to be friends with Gendry. He's my first true friend and you're ruining it!" She cried.

That stopped them in their tracks cold, extinguishing all the agitation and worry in them. They looked at each other in horror as they realized that it was their fault that their sister had tears in her usually fierce gaze.

"Arya..."

They knelt in front of her and wrapped her in their arms.

"We're sorry," Jon said.

"We can't dictate who's allowed to become your friend and who isn't." Robb continued.

"But we want to meet him, if that's okay."

Arya sniffed, and nodded where her face was smushed between their chests'. "Okay. But don't be idiots about it,"

"We'll try," Jon chuckled softly into her hair.

"But we're idiots, so we can't promised anything." Robb murmured.

* * *

When Arya went behind the school and to the shop, she was wearing her usual boy-styled uniform, and didn't have her practise sword with her. She ordered Robb and Jon to wait around the corner while she fetched Gendry from the shop, and threatened to murder them if they moved, they agreed reluctantly.

She'd never actually been inside the shot. And to be honest, it was kinda scary. It was louder in here, than outside, as the students hustled around, working big, noisy machinery.

"Gendry?" She called out, not even sure if her voice couldn't be heard over the din. She couldn't spot the older boy, it was just a sea of grease-stained faces and dirty overalls.

"Hey,"

Arya whirled around, striking what felt like a brick wall in her surprise**—**that had been happening a lot lately. Said brick wall turned out to be Gendry's broad chest.

"Sorry," she admitted.

He didn't seem affected as he stood looking down at her, wiping his hands with that rag of his, with an amused expression in his blue eyes. "What are you doing here?" He asked. "Where's your sword?"

"I didn't bring it." She told him, clenching and unclenching the throbbing fist she had struck him with. "My brothers want to met you."

"What?" He stopped rubbing his hands with the rag. "You told you _brothers_ about me? Your _two older_ brothers?"

Arya nodded in confusion to his reaction. "I told them about you. You're my first true friend and I wanted them to know." She looked at him for a moment with her piercing grey eyes. "Are you... _scared_ of them?"

"What! Don't be an idiot. I can take care of myself," He exclaimed. "But didn't you wonder how they'd react about the fact that I'm in the same grade as them?"

Arya shrugged her narrow shoulders. "They just want to meet you, I made them promise. If your scared, I'll protect you." She mocked him.

Gendry's blue gaze hardened as he glared down at her. "Let's go," he growled. "And don't worry, I'll get you back for this." He assured her.

Arya gulped. "By introducing me to _your_ older brothers?"

Gendry shook his head. "I don't have any siblings**—**at least I don't think. No. It will be much worse than that."

Arya was confused about that first part as she lead him to her two waiting brothers; how could you not know if you don't have any siblings? And couldn't help but feel both fear and curiosity as to what his revenge might be. But she put that to the back of her mind as she rounded the corner; she needed to be on her toes for this, ready for anything to happen. She knew that with Gendry's size, he could defend himself, and she knew how well Robb and Jon both fought**—**but it didn't matter how well her friend fought if in was two-against-one.

Arya stopped in front of her two waiting brothers, and all was silent as she watched the three of them size each other up. She rolled her eyes at them, idiots.

"Gendry, this is Robb and Jon." She gestured to her brothers respectively. "Guys, this is Gendry." She introduced them, trying to get the ball rolling.

Her brothers weren't being as compliant as they said they would be, and Gendry earned himself some brownie points as he held out his hand to them for a shake. "It's nice to finally meet Arya's brothers."

Jon took his hand first, then Robb. "You too," they said, and went back to glaring at each other.

Arya hissed at them. "What is wrong with you guys?"

"Sorry that we couldn't have met before, we just heard about you from Arya last night." Jon continued promptly, politely.

"That's fine," Gendry said. "We just became friends yesterday."

"What? You only met yesterday?" Robb asked.

Gendry shook his head. "We've known each other for a couple of months, actually."

"Really?"

Both brothers seemed surprised by this, and Gendry looked down at Arya next him. She just shrugged her shoulders at them.

"So you work in the shop?" Jon inquired.

Gendry nodded. "Since my first-year. I like the intricacies of machines."

Silence. Arya looked between the three of them. They weren't saying anything, but at least they weren't glaring at each other as much.

"Well," Arya opined. "This was nice. Gendry, you can go back to the shop, sorry for dragging you away."

"That's fine," Gendry looked down at her and smiled. "Remember what I said." He murmured before saying goodbye to her brothers and heading back to the shop.

"What was he talking about?" Jon instantly asked, suspicious.

"None of your business!" Arya snapped at him, angry at their reactions to meeting Gendry. "What was your problem, why were you so mean to Gendry?"

"We weren't mean!" Robb protested as she glared at them.

"You said you were going to be nice!"

Jon sighed and ran a hand through his black curls. "You can't blame us, Arya. We never expected him to be like he was."

"What are you talking about?" She asked in confusion.

"We thought he'd be a troll, and fat." Robb said.

"Instead he was tall, and handsome, and muscular. Just the kind of guy that we don't want you hanging around." Jon finished.

Arya was still confused by what they were talking about; trolls and princes? "I don't know what you're talking about. And I don't care if _you_ don't like him, _I_ like him."

"Humph." Robb intoned. "Fine, but don't think we won't be keeping an eye on him."

"Whatever. I don't know what your problems are, but leave me out of it. Gendry's my friend, no matter what you say. So you might as well get used to it and shut up." She pushed through them and walked away.

She loved her brothers, but sometimes they made her want to scream. Gendry was just her friend, she didn't know what their problem was, and decided that she didn't care. She'd made the impression that she wanted, she didn't care what anyone said about her**—**she was happy and she had a true friend, and she was going to fight tooth and nail to keep them if she had to.

_-fini-_

_**********Game/of/Thrones**********_

**Note:**  
**Please review. I hoped that you liked it as much as I did writing it. I had no writer's block while working on this fic, which is something rare, and that just proves how into it I was. I hope to write more for Game Of Thrones, for this same "The North Winter High School" Modern Universe, but ****not necessarily**** the same story arc of ****Being Who I Want To Be****, so keep an eye out for those future fics!**  
**Thanks for reading!**

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